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“I have no clue, none at all. I don’t even know how they put it in there, just woke up one morning for breakfast, and there it was. Although I guess it’s probably out of commission, even if its still there, what with the power being out and all…”

Shiloh watched Ian carefully, the vague explanations only making him more curious. But Ian didn’t seem particularly comfortable with the subject, so when the man reached over and teasingly pulled his ponytail, he grimaced at him, and then laughed, letting the subject drop.

“Hey, hey, don’t be lumping me in with you misfits, my hair and I are perfectly normal.”

Smiling, Shiloh settled back onto the ground, squishing his pillow of a shirt until it was comfortable. They certainly weren’t getting any training done, but Haruka had long since given up on trying to spring the Life hunter into any sort of action and Shiloh was perfectly fine with lazing about. He lifted his head to look at Ian again, and it was only then that it finally dawned on him how close the other man was. Shiloh stared. Their faces were so close, if he just leaned forward, just a little bit, he could…

…Give Ian’s forehead a little flick with his fingertips, grinning again.

“That’s for pulling my hair.”

“Well, Nevada did say I was adorable, and now you too, I’m inclined to think it’s true,” he chuckled. “But no, maybe not a light pink for you… I’m sure you could pull off a strand of the darker stuff though, or maybe some red would be cool. But, you do have really nice hair.”

Shiloh was almost tempted to reach for a lock of Ian’s hair, to see where might best be a spot for a hint of color, but he stopped himself, his fingers flexing against his side. His own hair was long and easy to pull, but Ian’s was short and he would have to get even closer, and that was when he went in for the flick.

He grinned widely at Ian’s reaction, and then dived for his shirt, wrapping his arms around it as the other hunter tried to pull it away from him.

“You don’t get to payback for payback,” he laughed, his fingers curling around Ian’s hand in playful attempt to dislodge his grip. “Besides, what are you going to do with it, wear it?”

He stuck his tongue out at him.

Shiloh might not have come off as a very competitive person, but Haruka was all about winning, and she’d chosen him for a reason, even if he was less aggressive than she would have liked. Playing tug-of-war with Shiloh’s shirt delighted the weapon, and she urged him on excitedly. What a good game!

Shiloh couldn’t help but catch some of her boisterous energy, and the way Ian teased him had him laughing, and incensed him further.

“A prize! What are you gonna mount on your wall or something? What will I wear?”

He was holding onto Ian’s arm now, and he rolled into the other man until he was practically sitting on him, wrestling to separate the Mist hunter from his clothing. Wrestling kind of counted as training, right?

Shiloh on the other hand, had no qualms about looking silly. Little embarrassed him, or made him back down and wrestling with another man in the middle of the training fields was no exception. He didn’t care what other people thought, so long as he wasn’t hurting anyone. As he roughhoused with Ian, however, he might have forgotten a little bit about that last part.

Haruka had no qualms either, her barking voice incessant in his head, making it hard to focus on much more than the game at hand.

“Maybe this is my only colourful shirt. It’s like you’re trying to ruin my excellent sense of fashion. How dare you!”

Shiloh laughed again but the minute he relaxed, the Mist hunter had ensnared his wrists, and then his arms, and it was all Shiloh could do to not let go of his shirt. The fabric was slipping perilously from his fingers, and Shiloh grunted, pressing his weight against Ian, trying to pin him against the ground.

“Well, I’m not entirely sure how to start a fake one soo… Why, are you chicken? Ch-Ian-ken?”

He was grinning far too widely for such a bad joke, taunting Ian.

“Why does everyone want my boots?” he whined, suddenly glad he’d chosen to wear his sneakers. Ian was welcome to have those; they were ugly as all get out. The fascination with boots, he didn’t understand. They’d been a cheap dollar store find, and though it was easier to just not correct people, he wasn’t really that into duck print. He’d purchased the boots on a whim because they reminded him of someone, and that was the only reason they were so special. Otherwise, he wasn’t entirely sure he understood the appeal. But then again, maybe Ian didn’t really want them. He didn’t really think that Ian wanted his shirt either, which begged the question as to why they were in a tangle of limbs in the first place. It was the principle of the challenge, Shiloh concluded, and Haruka agreed.

“Never!” he argued, a determined grin on his face. “I’ll make all the bad jokes I want, and keep my clothes, you just have to let go…”

But as much as Shiloh refused to give in, with his fingers still wound tightly into his shirt, Ian had pinned him quite well and though Shiloh wasn’t weak by any means, he lacked the weight to dislodge the other hunter with his upper body like Ian had him. His arms were indisposed, but his legs were still free, Shiloh realized. Thinking quickly, or possibly not thinking at all, he wrapped his legs around Ian, twisting beneath him and trying to flip him back onto his side.

Shiloh had truthfully never really wrestled outside of playful fights with friends and his brother, so the only thing he was likely to succeed at with his new tactic was to put the both of them in a very awkward position.

Shiloh wasn’t about to give up by any stretch, and he met Ian’s smirk with one of his own, shouting happily when he managed to unearth the other man and squeeze out from beneath him, sitting over Ian triumphantly.

He laughed, blowing his wayward bangs out of his face. “Ha, willful, I guess that’s one way of putting it. You put up a good fight but did you really think I’d just roll over and let you take it-“

One of Ian’s hands had released its hold on him, and the man was running his fingers through his hair. Shiloh froze, staring. It wasn’t the first time Ian had touched his hair but the gesture was in such contrast to the grappling they’d just been doing that it caught him entirely off-guard. His gaze at Ian was questioning. It was likely nothing, Shiloh reasoned. It was just a habit that Ian had picked up along with the nickname the man had given him. Even more likely, he considered, it was a way to distract him. But whatever it was, it had definitely proved to be a distraction and in the next instant Shiloh found himself on his back again with a thump, looking up at Ian and unable to move.

Checkmate.

He caught his breath slowly, fixing Ian with another hard stare. It had probably been nothing, he thought, wiggling his arms and testing the bonds of Ian’s grasp. It had definitely been nothing, Shiloh convinced himself, and he was definitely stuck. Haruka wailed in his head as he admitted defeat, but Shiloh's face slipped into his familiar smile, wide and beaming.

“Alright, alright, you got me,” he conceded surprisingly cheerfully, letting the shirt fall from his hands. “There, take your spoils.”

As Ian had leaned over him, it seemed like the man was wrestling with more than just Shiloh, dealing with some inner dialogue that Shiloh was not privy to. Shiloh only saw the brief shift of emotion in the hunter’s green eyes, and then the slow slide of his features back into a smile as he lifted on of Shiloh’s wrists. Ian brought it up to his face, and Shiloh’s own expression was confused, his breath hitching in his throat as his pulse quickened. The press of lips against his skin was quick, and Ian released him afterwards and climbed off of him. Shiloh was still confused.

[ He wants that as spoils? What sort of creature is he! It’s not a proper victory if you don’t take what you want! ]

But Shiloh was ignoring Haruka, a dumbfounded look on his face. It was still probably nothing, he reasoned, perhaps Ian just had different customs. He stared at his wrist, studying for a second it as though maybe it could tell him what had just happened.

[ WHAT? He gave it back! I don’t think he understands how to win, Shiloh. You should show him, quick, now while he’s not expecting it! ]

His shirt landed on him and it knocked him out of his momentary silence. He sat up, rubbing his wrists where Ian had held them. He shifted, bringing to his chest and leaning his arms on them as he glanced at Ian, lying on his back beside him, his hair messily framing his face. Shiloh was afraid to see what his own hair looked like, and he laughed suddenly, thinking it probably wasn’t a pretty sight. Wiping his brow with his shirt, he grinned widely at the Mist hunter.

“Your loss,” he laughed again, though the implication of his words flew right over his head. “I for one can’t believe anyone would pass up the opportunity to own a sweaty t-shirt.”

“Hm,” Shiloh remarked, watching Ian. “If that’s true, I think we need to talk, Ian. You have a sweat t-shirt hoarding problem and I think it’s taking over your life.”

He grinned then, like the cheese-ball that he was, and mimicked Ian, running his fingers through his hair. Or at least he would have, if it hadn’t turned into tangled chaos held together by his hair elastic. Shiloh tugged the band, letting his hair down. He blew out a frustrated sigh almost immediately; the instant his hair was free, it settled on his neck, damp and sticky. Heat and his hair length had never really agreed, but until now it hadn’t particularly been a probably on the island, surprisingly enough. He combed his fingers through the pink and blonde strands, straightening the mess out before he tossed it all back up again, looping it into the elastic in a loose sort of bun.

“Better?”

His hair had always been a source of rebellious pride for him, and hot though it was, he couldn’t fathom cutting it or ever keeping it a natural color. But as he looked at Ian, and the short locks of brown stuck to his face, he was a little bit jealous. His own natural hair color was pale and boring, but even damp with sweat, Ian’s was a rich mahogany and the man looked good. Shiloh was smirking at him, but even as he did so, he felt like a kid, with his oddly coloured hair and his ducky shoelaces.

He wondered if it was time to grow up a little bit, but the voracious laughter that erupted from Haruka in his head at that idea echoed his sentiments exactly.

“Yours is messy too, y’know.”